The Forgotten
by Miss-Amphitrite
Summary: The girl on fire is who she'll always be. I am water. We cannot coexist. She's already evaporated me once. The 74th Games are nothing to her. She's killed me, but she can't be quenched so easily. It isn't as romantic and noble, but this story? It's mine.    This is my own little District Four story. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

Many a day has been wasted before, and this one is falling to the collection. Even my necklace can't seem to keep me distracted. Still, I run my fingers across the ever so thin wire. I remember sitting on Mother's lap as she wove the intricate thing, but that was years ago. Ten, to be exact.

Nothing can seem to raise my incredibly low patience, so I find my eyes wandering all over the room. Then, I remember why I _don't _look around the room. This is our formal living area. Tokens rest on any given surface- hair ribbons, jewelry, even a miniature trident glisten as far as the eye can see. Simple gifts, nothing harmful. Not physically, at least, save for perhaps the trident. It's the reasoning behind these gifts that makes my stomach churn thinking about them. These are tokens of love…. Love. Ha. Forgive me. These are tokens of beauty _mistaken_ for love. That's what makes it so sickening, because he _has _love, but has to accept these atrocities and their Capitol attachments nonetheless.

To avoid my brutal thoughts, I look to my fingers, which is a mistake. They are cut, freshly scabbed from my job. My fingernails are ragged. Even the areas that aren't covered in pinpricks of blood are colored with the shine of long healed scars. This is evidence of the massacre that wire traps could commit. I am one of the few weavers- _true_ weavers, that is, in District Four. Theoretically, I could just dump my horrid job into the ocean. It's an unlikely idea, but possible, all too possible, what with my brother. Well, cousin. Everyone knows it, and everyone knows _him. _He has built quite a reputation for himself.

Haven't you heard of Finnick Odair?

The golden boy himself walks in that moment flanked by Ophelius and Roma, the mayor's two children. I stare stonily at my golden palm. He talks in the seductive purr that is his shield. I suppose it's designed to hide the fact that he is more than just a plaything for rich women. Roma sucks it in, flourishing in his attention. As soon as she sees me, she finds it in herself to leave, to which I think _good riddance_. Roma and I have never been on the best of terms, but that is best left for another time. Although Roma clearly means for him to follow her, perhaps to help her cry to the mayor about the mean girl from Four, but Ophelius stays, and Roma finally storms out.

Ophelius seems to talk of important things, like town safety and boat repair, but Finnick doesn't listen. I only know this because he looks directly at me and rolls his eyes. Ophelius must realize his partner's lack of response as well, because he says in a huff, "Well, even though District Four has important things to be discussed, you evidently have other obligations that seem to be more prudent than listening to me, so I will hold you no longer." He sounds noble enough in saying this, but it's obvious he's furious when he storms out similarly to his sister. The heavy, repellant scent that his temperament leaves behind reminds me of a large, ugly dog, quite to the contrary of the little ball of fluff he calls a pet. He offered me one at one point, but I believe that was before he became so incredibly conceited.

As soon as the front door slams, Finnick sits on the fancy gray velvet loveseat. He props his feet haphazardly on the small wooden table in the center of the room. He then turns to me, all of his "sexy" façade lost in the tide. Instead, his eyes are amused. "How has my darling cousin been?" he asks. I set the necklace aside and lean against his familiar body rather than the soft cushions. I much prefer his sculpted, muscled figure to the floppy things I now sit on. I inhale his familiar scent, the odd composition of ocean and jasmine. Right now, the former is overpowering, which leads me to one conclusion.

"Been swimming lately?" I know the answer, because I feel his wet hair. I run my fingers through the bronze mop, and they come away soaked. He knows the answer is evident as well, so rather than replying, he laughs and shakes his head in my general direction. I'm laughing, not at all concerned about the salt water. Like everyone else in the district, my hair absorbs it, and if it would hurt the furniture, it would have done so long ago.

We laugh and talk for a while. Together, our rather humorous personalities come out. We are relatively tight knit, him being all I have as far as family most of the time. It goes deeper than that, though. We are each other's best friends, as far as I am concerned. He is my confidant. And I am the antidote for the Capitol. I'm the one he talks to when these women have him feeling like a disgusting plaything, there simply for Capitol women and their desires. We notice everything about each other, which explains how he noticed my hands.

"Lily." His voice is calm, deadly calm. "What have you been doing?"

I sigh. "Weaving."

He tenses. "Weaving for Jace still, I presume?" His voice is hard. He knows my answer in the form of my tense fist, still under his speculation. He talks through clenched teeth. "He knows he's killing you. He _knows _it." There's a tense silence between us. As if to break it, he stands up lashes out, and a small glass ball goes shattering to the floor. My teeth clench, and I'm sure my face has conformed to a grimace. I was actually quite fond of that token, if it were possible for me to be fond of any of them. "He and I are going to have a little…" His eyes flash to the little golden trident. "…Talk."

This is the most terrifying thing in the world for me. I call these Finnick's rages, because that's what they are. It takes a well-directed blow to get him into one, and a certain _thing _to get him out of one. Unfortunately, that thing can't be acquired until he is stable. Stable does not include the consideration of murder by means of a miniature trident.

I know this has to end. I stand, probably on a pile of glass, and rest my hands on his shoulders. "Finnick. Please sit." I spend a solid minute coaxing him into a sitting position. The second I'm sure he's going to stay, I'm sprinting out the door.

Thirty seconds later, I am running up the stairs to our neighbor's house. My fist is raised, but the door slides open. A girl with a face the color of sand and a huge smile answers the door. Her smile fades upon seeing the expression on mine. "Finnick?" her worried voice asks. My nod sends her running. She comes back followed by a lithe, graceful-looking woman. I barely get a glimpse of her before she is out the door.

The remaining girl- we all call her Cal, her real name being long and difficult to remember- steps out and slides the door shut. I sit on the sandy steps, just realizing the amount of blood coming from my feet. She grimaces delicately. Blood has always been Cal's weak spot. Still, she hands me a ragged old towel, which I place under me as not to get any more of the red fluid on Cal's porch. I begin picking the glass shards out.

As if to distract herself from the now freely flowing blood, Cal says, "At least she was planning on seeing Finnick today anyway." She gently tugs at her nail beds as I see Annie slide into the open door of my house. Truth is, even if she weren't "planning on seeing Finnick today," she would still be there. That is one of the great things about Annie, but it isn't as if her willingness is at all for me. No, Annie will always be there for him. He was always there for her.

Let me explain the story behind it all. Annie was young- well, not young, sixteen- when she was reaped for District Four. She was small and terrified of everything, but ironically enough, most scared of her mentor. It wasn't really odd. Finnick had spent his time in the Games spearing people off like fish with his trident. He had scared me at first, but then he came home, and I saw the torture in his eyes whenever the Games were mentioned, and I knew they weren't as easy as he made them out to be, but I also knew he was the same Finnick. Annie, however, hadn't trusted him quite that easily. She was terrified of him at first, but he worked his magic on her. He let her into his little secret, the real him being the biggest one, and then they realized that they both needed each other.

Annie got out of the Games, but she wasn't whole anymore. Her mind, so easily sculpted, was smashed to bits by the gory mess that was the Hunger Games. She could be perfectly fine on occasion, but then, she could be doing anything when it hits. I remember her weaving a net- she was always the most skilled weaver in the district, along with perhaps Finnick and a few elders. Her fingers were flying, and suddenly, she was shoving the whole thing as far away from her as possible…as though it were coated in poison, and I suppose it could be in the mind of a victim. A victim of the Games, that is.

All of the men in our district have declared her damaged, but Finnick knows better, and so they are bonded. Don't get me wrong, I can talk him out of one of his rages as well as she can, but she's quicker, and altogether more efficient. I don't know what she does, and I'd honestly prefer it stay that way.

I don't exactly know how to respond to Cal's statement except perhaps with another question. "What would he expect me to do all day if I weren't working?" She is the one person in the world who doesn't seem jealous at the fact that there was nothing for me to do, but only because her life is quite like mine. We both finished school earlier in the year, and neither of us cares much for training, although I can't say I have never tried it. There is really nothing to do if you are doing nothing.

Cal and I sit quietly as I make sure every little glass shard has been carefully pinched out of the thick padding of my feet. They still bleed, but there is nothing that can be done about that at the moment, or rather nothing that I want to do. Instead, I bid Cal goodnight and slowly trek back to my house. I take the time to carefully diffuse my bloody footprints, old and new, into the sand. Keeping to my previous claims, I don't want to interrupt Annie and Finnick so soon. Besides, the Peacekeepers would question these marks of violence, an odd concept for a band of militants who find it acceptable to batter someone bloody for holding hands in public.

As soon as I am safely in my house, the laughter pouring out of the formal room beckons to me. However, I instead head to the bathroom, gently scrubbing my feet in the tub, wincing as the sand comes off, taking fresh scabs and at least one layer of skin with them. By the time my feet are clean, the water is maroon, and I'm digging my teeth into my lip to stop myself from crying out. I'm forced to think of the irony. Finnick was so mad because of what Jace had done to my fingers, but that was such a small scale of what my feet look like now, which _he _was the cause of.

When I pad painfully into the sitting room, I automatically feel as though I'm intruding. Annie is perched precariously on Finnick's knee, and a rare smile is on her lips. His arms are around her slim waist, and hers are entwined behind his neck, her agile fingers twisted into his bronze hair. I feel my face redden, and I back out before either of them can see me.

Romance is such a foreign concept to me. I have always been the quiet girl of the district, which in turn makes me one of the least…desired, you could say. I suppose I have the Odair good looks, with the famous sea-green eyes and the untraditional light mahogany curls. Still, that isn't enough. Not for me. The interest comes with the name, I suppose, and I am an Amadahy, not an Odair. I have never found anyone worth my time, and I probably never will. Anyone who has ever shown any interest ends up taking advantage of me in one way or another, so I've stopped reacting to men in general. Nonetheless, I still get an odd lump in my throat when I see any displays of affection, especially with Finnick and Annie, because they have that pure kind of love that is practically impossible to find sometimes. The _real _love.

I head to my room and stare at the ceiling for the hour or so it takes for the happy couple to realize I'm missing. Actually, it's possible they might have noticed a while ago, but I've only just seen the golden hand waving above my face. I realize that I'd completely lost myself in my head. "…anything in there? Lily? I know you hear me." I blink rapidly and sit up. He seems very relieved. "Lily, I'm sorry about earlier."

I yawn before saying, "What about?"

"Everything." He gestures to my feet with a grimace. "Those. My attitude." He shakes his head remorsefully enough. "Well, not sorry about considering killing Jace, but nobody needs to know about that." We both laugh, but the movement of Annie tentatively pushing back my door catches his eye. He gestures for her to come in, and she perches delicately on my bed next to him. She smiles halfheartedly at me. I've spent many a night wondering if Annie actually considers me a friend or if she only really tolerates me because I make Finnick happy. Still, I return her smile.

Finnick and Annie leave soon. He always walks her to her door, not because he doesn't trust her. Unlike her own mother, who barely trusts Annie with a spoon, Finnick had trusted her alone in a gymnasium stocked with weapons, not that he had a choice. He only walks with her because he can, and he wouldn't have the luxury for a while. I don't think too hard about that, rather stretching and heading off to the kitchen.

When Finnick returns, we eat a fairly simple dinner before going to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day for both of us, longer so for him than me. At this point, there wasn't much I could hope for, but as I luxuriously but uncomfortably stretch out on my bed, I just wish with all of my being that this will be over soon.


	2. Chapter 2

_**OOC:**_**I use a lot of sarcasm when I write (well, Lily is a sarcastic person... wonder where she got _that _from), so read with caution. Oh, and thanks for reading! Feel free to review. *nudge nudge***

_**Chapter Two**_

I can't help but wonder every year why we dress up for death. Well, maybe not death. Were it to go as planned, one of us would be dressing to win, but that doesn't always seem likely. The majority of the district is dressing up simply to stand there. No matter how senseless it may seem, I still have to comply with standards. I keep this in mind as I pull on a tissue paper green dress- well, it isn't actually tissue paper, but that's what it reminds me of. It's fastened under my chest with some fashionable beaded thing, and it falls loosely down to my knees. I wear a pair of strappy gold sandals, half tempted not to wear shoes at all until I remember my cuts. Then, with a grimace, I pull on the things and head to the door.

The streets are already flooded as I head to the square. The usual air of business is gone, replaced with an atmosphere of fear, hope, indifference, and in some cases, bloodlust. The rambunctious laughter that rings through the square is evidence of the latter. It makes me a bit sick, come to think of it, but there's nothing I can really do about it.

The pen of eighteen year olds is crowded as ever. I am stuck between a huddle of girls who I hardly know, all of which attempting to converse over my head, which is quite amusing, considering my height as compared to theirs. Eventually, I get sick of their mindless chatter, and I head towards the back corner right as Marina Barcelona, the mayor, Finnick, and Cassina Dulore all mount the makeshift stage. Just like she has for the last few years, Marina rubs up to Finnick. I'm never sure if I should laugh or cry, so I just remain quiet and tune out as the mayor as he recounts the Dark Days.

For entertainment's sake, I'll go ahead and recap the speech. A long time ago, the humans that resided here, then called North America, completely destroyed the land, what with wars and such. After this inhumane destruction, a country rose from the misery and pain, a country by the name of Panem. But alas, the districts decided to rebel, and so the Capitol started a raging nuclear war, which was so much more acceptable than the previous war, even though it caused so much more damage. Who cares about the millions of lives that were lost? It was completely under Capitol jurisdiction, so therefore, it was tolerable. That was a joke, by the way, albeit an unamusing one. The Capitol tries to pull off its crimes by saying it was to save the districts from themselves. They weren't afraid to blow up an entire district to prove their point.

Thus, the Hunger Games were created. Every year, two innocent, or maybe not so innocent children are stolen from the arms of their families to fight to the death in an arena of the Capitol's choosing while, because their ancestors made such a valiant effort, Capitol kids get prettied up to watch the massacre. Fun.

I'm sure it's quite evident why one would tune out for this.

I don't bother to tune back in when Cassina Dulore gifts us with her bleached white smile, the scary evidence of a Capitol woman. She has no odd deformities or surgeries like most of them. The worst Capitol adornment she has is scary amounts of glittering gold powder on her eyelids. Otherwise, Cassina is as normal as they get.

"All right, ladies!" Her smile gets larger as she dips her caramel colored hand into the large ball. Her professional smile and demeanor never leaves her. For dramatic effect, she stretches her arm to the bottom of the bowl, and her manicured fingers are seen brushing the frosted glass. The only sound is the tittering of babies and twelve year olds, terrified little children. I feel sympathy for them, but there isn't anything I can do to reassure them, so I just yawn and thing about more pressing matters.

I never would have known. Never. I was preoccupied with a million little thoughts, thoughts that flitted through my head like small minnows. They each picked at me, dividing my attention until the outside world was little more than a small buzz in my mind, which was naturally when it happened.

I, Lily Amadahy, was reaped.

I am sure I looked quite stunned, or maybe surprised. As I walked up the wooden stairs, I feel a bit worried. I never thought this would happen. I considered myself safe.

_Of course you weren't safe. You were as far from safe as you could get!_

No, I wasn't. No tesserae.

…_Never mind._

I stand in my allotted spot in the center of the stage. I feel eyes on me, from the front and the back. I could get used to this. I neutralize my expression, although my eyebrows remain raised as Cassina requests volunteers, and nobody bothers to comply, and so I stay. As if I should care. I probably should, actually, but so what.

I stare nonchalantly into the crowd as Kai Mornan was reaped, and was indifferent when he was replaced by Nerio Arlan. Later, I might wonder where my emotions went to, but for now, I think it's best that I leave them hidden, because when it comes out, I sense a tsunami.

The Treaty of Treason was the only part of the Games that ever made me scared, as a little kid and now. I never pay attention to the speeches, but this one was different. It put into perspective what these Games were. One line mentioned our representation of the Capitol, our district, and ourselves, life or death. It always scared me, the thought of impending doom. Now, it rinses off me as if I were covered by a thick glass sheet. I will myself not to think. I barely register Nerio's oddly soft hand grabbing my callused one, shaking in my fate. Then we are marched out by white figures.

I've been in the Justice Building my fair share of times, usually hunting out Finnick. I've actually waited in the precise room that the Peacekeepers choose to deposit me in. I gently sit on the pale beige velvet couch, my feet firmly and somewhat painfully perched on the pale, driftwood-colored hardwood floor. The walls are hung with golden nets, and they cover a pale blue wall. It's amazing how they attempt to capture the whole district in this one room, and it's amazing how it worked.

"Lily!" A voice wakes me up from my thoughts. Cal, in a pale blue dress, stands in the doorway. Tears run down her pale face. Real tears. More than could be said about most. I automatically stand and pull her to the couch next to me. She grabs my hand. "All these years, and we thought we were finally safe!"

My smile is sad. "I guess we're never safe."

Her eyes brighten. "At least you have Finnick!" True. All too true. My cousin shall suffer my fate with me. On that note, we stop talking, neither of us really knowing what to say. Just my presence is enough for her, or so it would seem.

The next person who waits at my door after Cal leaves is… "Daddy?"

Daddy is actually my Uncle Maximus. He has been my father for a while now, although I opted to live with his son, only because Uncle Max is one of the people who get sent to the Capitol to provide them with more than their share of fish and whatnot. He is one of the few who had an excused absence from the reaping, since everyone knows that the Capitol is much more important than family.

As soon as he comes in, I run to him. I've never judged any more than necessary for not being there, because as I said, I stick with Finnick. I didn't even know he was home, and I tell him so.

"I didn't know I'd be home either. We arrived an hour or so ago." He sits on the couch, smiling as if I weren't being sent off to my doom. He requests I catch him up, and so I do. When the Peacekeepers come, he presses something into my hand, and he says quietly, "Use this, little leaf."

When he is gone, I unclench my fist, and in my palm rests my necklace. Looking at it, it's obvious it isn't a necklace anymore. It's about the size of my ankle. I prop my foot up on the empty couch seat and fasten it there, noting the perfect fit. Amazing how long it's been. The little sapphire flower positioned in the center winks at me. It completely disorients me when I see a pair of feet waiting on the floor.

I quickly smack my foot back to the polished floor. I lift my eyes to see Annie Cresta standing in front of me. This is a surprise. I didn't think Annie would really have any desire to see me. She is quite stunning today, her brunette hair dangling loosely down her back. Her green eyes shine oddly. Is it…possible?

"I know we don't talk very much." She shoves a lock of hair behind her ear, probably wishing she could tie it all up. She sighs and sits. "I just… Umm, I wanted to wish you good luck." She nervously plays with her nails. She's hesitant when she says, "I just… Okay, I wanted to pass on a bit of advice." She clenches her eyes shut. "Play to your strengths. Don't spend three days learning impossible skills. Try everything the first day and stick to what you're good at. Take advantage of the Careers. When you think they'll turn on you, leave." She opens her eyes, and I see how troubled they look. I don't see why she's sacrificing her temporary sanity for me. That strikes me as unlike her. "We're- I'm on your side." I am even more surprised when Annie pulls me into a light, hesitant hug. As soon as she pulls back, her graceful legs pull her up and out of the room.

As the Peacekeepers head in to take me to the train station, I feel dread clenching in my stomach. It's happening. I'm leaving. District Four, all gone. I have less than a five percent chance to make it back home alive. Ah, no. This is bad. This is really, really bad. My mind is going into overtime. I am shaking… Shaking…

_This is horrible. Do you want the Capitol to think you're weak?_

Do I care what they think? I'm going to die anyway… I'm going to be dead. Dead. Me. Dead. Cold. Lifeless. Pale. No more ocean, no more Finnick-

_Yes, you care! Stop it and lift your head up. You're not one of them. Act like the woman you are, and for goodness sake, breathe!_

I could argue more with myself- I'm not a woman! I'm still a kid! -but I don't. I just lift my head up high and pretend I'm not falling apart. But why breathe? I certainly feel fake.

_Smile, Lily. You're on camera. Act like a human, not like a mannequin._

I feel like a mannequin. I won't smile, but I let one eyebrow slide up, and I slightly curve one corner of my mouth. Nonchalant. Amused. Uncaring. Perfect. I concentrate on my breathing, and it keeps me sane temporarily. In… Out… In… Out… I keep up my façade as I, along with Nerio, get shoved by camera crews and Peacekeepers to a car, and later a train. Only then do I disappear to my own personal car and let it all fall apart.

An hour or so later, a knock resounds through the luxuriously large car. I am curled up in the middle of the squishy bed. Cassina's voice is the one that slips under the heavy wooden door. "Dinner!" Her lilting Capitol accent isn't as thick as most. She's only been the District Four mentor since I was thirteen. I wonder where she came from, and I wonder how that brought her here. What do you have to do to get yourself whisked away to the Capitol?

I pull myself up from the bed, which apparently conformed to my body shape because standing proves to be harder than I would have imagined. I walk to the small bathroom and run my fingers through my tangled hair. After a few minutes, I give up. I grab a pencil found from a drawer and fix my hair up with that. My eyes are blissfully clear, rather than the bright red that would give me away.

After another quick once-over, I slip silently out the door and take the one empty spot at the table. I take in the scene in front of me. Nerio is eating some sort of white mush out of a large silver bowl using the serving spoon, much to the amusement of Marina and the thinly veiled disgust of everyone else, Avoxes included. Cassina quietly speaks to Finnick, her eyes flashing to my door every few seconds. I turn away from this conversation. I don't want to hear it. Nothing in the room interests me, not even the food. My stomach is still in knots. Still, I know if I don't eat, it will come back to me later, so I take an unnaturally white roll from a pile and begin picking it apart on my plate.

After a while, I notice that the whole table has gone silent. I look to Nerio first, and I see his eyes flashing between Marina, Cassina, and me. He appears quite confused, and I don't really blame him. I then look to Marina, who stares at me with a mixture of glee and hate. I turn away from her burning gaze. Cassina's soft, worried eyes concern me. I turn back to Nerio in confusion. "What's going on?" he asks in childish puzzlement, voicing my precise thoughts with a bit more mundane wording. Still, it gets the point across.

"It's a bit complicated…" Cassina says, evidently hesitant to talk.

Marina laughs. Cruelly, I might add, unless it was my imagination. "No it isn't." Her voice is loathing as her eyes burn into my face. "A mentor change is in order."

"_WHAT?" _Nerio seems to already be quite attached to Marina, considering this outburst. It doesn't make sense to me at first. Mentor change? The words bounce in my head like rocks. Like rocks, they soon sink in.

Cassina is talking when I register this emotion. "… only because of possible emotional interference. Were Lily to-"

"Mentor change?" My voice sounds dry. I know what they ask of me, but I want to hear the evidence coming out of their mouths, because my mind can't completely wrap around it.

A raspy croak responds to my question. "They don't want me to mentor you. Too many emotions." My eyes turn to the speaker. Finnick. I don't know why, but I have been avoiding him since I was reaped. It's evident the toll this is taking on him. His eyes are sad, broken… Begging. I feel a thick lump in my throat.

"Unless, of course, as I was saying, Lily objects, in which case things would go on as normal."

Me… Object? What is that supposed to mean? Apparently, my mind already knows. My eyes meet Finnick's famous, tortured, pleading sea green ones, and I feel my lips forming the words, "I object."

"Well, then I see no need to change mentors." Cassina's lips curl up in a half smile. Her eyes are sad. Finnick appears relieved, but still pained. Marina and Nerio are laughing and smiling like good friends, at least until Marina pauses to glare at me. I wonder why she hates me so. Actually, I don't really care.

Not too long after my roll has suffered the massacre that I will soon have to endure, its white guts spattered across my plate, an Avox deprives me of my anger management. Instead of screaming at him, which I feel like doing, I smile cordially and follow the rest of my dinner mates to another car, where we are expected to gape at the reapings in other districts and judge our competition. I plop into a small, soft armchair and clutch a throw pillow to my abdomen, scanning over everyone on screen with blank eyes.

A few people stick out. The boy who volunteers for One, who I already don't like. A nervous little pile of bones from Three being supported by a tall boy with incredibly messy hair, the male tribute. A wimpy-looking idiot replacing the boy from Four. At this, I send Nerio, who thankfully isn't paying attention, an amused glance. I look back to see a girl with hair lighter than mine, which gives her an odd fox-like effect, and her face doesn't help. I hope she's as smart as one.

The rest of the tributes aren't usually much competition- no offense to them, but it's true. I tune out, but the startled gasps from the television cue me back in. Yes, naturally I look when Katniss Everdeen steals the world.


	3. Chapter 3

I wouldn't have payed any attention to District Twelve were it not for Prim. Well, Primrose Everdeen. She was a young girl, probably twelve. Her hands are clenched into fists, and while she's attempting not to show it, terror exudes from her body. Poor girl. She is probably the light of her family. Many a child is told they will never be up on that stage, but yet there the poor little flower goes. Could nobody volunteer for her, this delicate thing? So easily torn, so easily broken… I feel a bit sick.

"Prim!" Do my ears deceive me? Does somebody actually bother to care? The cameras spiral until they focus on a girl, not much bigger than young Prim. She is pale, so pale. Not naturally- her skin does have an olive tone to it. No, this is fear. Her eyes are wild. She appears to be around fifteen. She runs forward, the crowd parting for her until she reaches the Peacekeepers, who form an impassable fence. "Prim!" Young Prim looks back. Will it happen? Can it happen? Peacekeepers close in to quiet this outburst. In a final act of desperation, she yells through the cage of their interlocked arms, "I volunteer- _I volunteer as tribute!_"

Effie Trinket, District Twelve's Capitol representative, laughs nervously, her hand firmly planted on her oddly tilted hair- well, wig. I see my own representative staring daggers at her out of the corner of my eye. I believe she disapproves of this bad hair conduct. Funny. If she wasn't so desperate to fix it, the sideways hair may as well have been a fashion statement. No one would have known any different, what with the things they wear in the Capitol.

"I believe there's a small matter of…" The woman talks on about rituals. I take the time to observe the girl. Her eyes are a clear gray, not unlike the majority of her district. Her hair is dark, and it's twisted into some intricate hairstyle. She's really quite pretty. The mayor says something, and then she is walking up to the stage. Her clothes aren't loose on her, which makes one notice that she appears well-fed and healthy, which is odd. Years of watching the Games have made me aware of the distinct social classes in District Twelve. She doesn't have the looks of the richer ones- the blonde haired ones, more often than not. Her dress is perhaps nice enough to perhaps say differently.

Prim runs up to grab her leg. She yells in a soprano trill, clearly attempting to make the older girl reconsider. A flash of pain slips across her face- physical or psychological, I have no clue- and she whispers something to Prim. The little flower cries harder. Finally, a man walks up. I must admit, he isn't at all unattractive. He pulls away the little girl, emotions dancing in his eyes. Unless my emotion reading skills fail me, he loves the tribute. That's interesting… and sad. He says something- do I see his lips form _catnip?_ -and she walks up the steps to meet her impending doom. Her eyes are tight with fear, worry…but no regret. Not at all. This girl strikes me as odd. And as competition.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" There Effie goes, damaging an actually touching moment with talk of the Capitol and its idiotic Games. She plasters on a smile, trying desperately to hold her wig in place. "What's your name?"

The girl swallows thickly and, when thrust in front of the podium, says clearly, "Katniss Everdeen."

Effie studies her curiously, probably wondering if she'll be any good in the arena, or maybe picturing her after the stylists get their hands on her. She snaps out of it quickly, though. The pause would have been imperceptible to a Capitol viewer. "I'd bet my buttons that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Her fake voice rings through the silent square, her Capitol bravado lost in the place. The tribute stands silently, her face hiding her emotions. I know the trick- I've done it quite often. The chaos still reigns in her eyes, though, and there's really no way to hide that. Not from me, at least.

The silence rings through the square. Do they actually care about this odd character, or are they just attempting to irritate Effie? I don't really know. An odd movement catches the eye of the camera man, and he turns to the audience. I don't know what to think of it. Every single person, from cruel-looking men to frail children has lifted three fingers to their lips, and in a wave of motion, they extend them to the girl. Katniss. The commentators titter about the charm, but Katniss looks ready to fall apart.

A voice yells in the background, and the cameras point to Haymitch Abernathy, the famed mentor and, well, _only _mentor of District Twelve. Why is he famous? Simple; he is famously drunk. Today is no exception. He runs up to the mortified tribute. "I like this one," he slurs. She flinches, either from his breath or the contact his hands made with her shoulders. "Lots of… Spunk! More than you!" Spunk. Hmm. She doesn't strike me as spunky, per se, but I was in no position to argue with Haymitch Abernathy, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I was more than okay with that. He evidently wants to convince me of her spunkiness, because he runs to the edge of the stage, shakes his fist at the camera, and with a cherry red face, yells, "_More than you!_" I feel an odd urge to step back. I think _he_ may be the spunky one here.

As if he were trying to entertain us, Mr. Abernathy takes a brilliant dive. The arch was quite excellent, and it would have had beautiful results, were he to have done it in water. Instead, the cobblestone is greeted with a close-up of his face. I hear Nerio snickering, and I just roll my eyes and tune out.

My eyes flicker open. I look around, startled. I hadn't remembered them sliding shut to begin with. A knock rings through the room, and I immediately know this is what woke me from my slumber. My car. How did I get here? Ah, never mind. No time to think.

I'm not planning on making myself presentable. So what if- Damn. Reporters. I sigh, head to the chest of drawers, and pull out some white dress not unlike the one I have on. I replace the dress, pull out the pencil that had kept my hair in place, and inspect myself. I groan at my hair. The mahogany colored curls stick, which sticks up in odd ways. I would brush it, but I don't want to waste time hunting for a brush in this place. I instead run my fingers under the faucet and attempt to smooth the mass before twisting it into a knot and letting the pencil take it from there.

The Capitol is like some unrealistic world where people have nothing more to do than look ridiculous and buy fancy, colorful cars. Oh, and gape at tributes. I wave at them, and a few wave back, but most just stare. That's when I feel Finnick's breath in my ear. "Whaddya think?" he whispers.

"Too fake." And it is. Yellow was never meant to be that bright. Pink should be used in moderation. It was all overwhelming and insane. He laughs quietly. He blows a kiss, and I swear three women faint. Wait, no. Two women…and one man. I roll my eyes.

"What?" He licks his lips, letting his voice go deep. "You don't find this…" Here, he spins me around, bending me backwards as if we were waltzing, before leaning over and finishing his statement. "Attractive?"

I laugh. "Yes, you are certainly a sex god. Now please let me up before you do something you may regret." He helps me up, and we ignore Cassina's disapproving gaze and Marina's jealous glare. Well, he does. I can't help but notice the latter. Why is it that she detests me so much? Although we have a tenancy to act to the contrary, he's my _cousin._ He's taken anyway. I live with him only because my parents are dead. Most people don't even know. They just hear Finnick, and there goes their sense.

I don't care to think too hard about Marina, because we are being shoved into a car and driven to the Remake Center. I wonder what my stylist has concocted. The prospect scares me a little.

The Opening Ceremonies are a way for the tributes to be introduced to the audience. It shows potential sponsors what they're signing up for, and gives the tributes a chance to make up for bad reaping impressions. My impression probably wasn't too incredibly bad, considering that I fell apart internally, rather than _externally_. Anyway, your whole "image" can be ruined by one horrible stylist, and a tribute can become amazing because of a genius outfit. It's apparent why this would concern anyone who isn't in District One. Huge fish for Four. Big tree for Seven. Cow costume for Ten. Covered in dirt with strategically placed cabbage leaves for Eleven. And the all-time worst… Naked with coal dust, seven years ago, District Twelve. These are all things that have happened, and that we wish could be forgotten. Actually, come to think of it, cow costumes aren't uncommon for Ten and coal dust is a go-to for Twelve. Coincidentally, tributes from Ten and Twelve are usually lacking sponsors. That's just how it works.

Upon arrival, I am immediately met by a blue person. The woman's skin is indigo, with crystals of various sizes inlaid in her skin. Her hair is silvery-black, with a few crystal beads tied in. Or glued. Maybe welded in. I'll never know. Or care. She introduces herself as Celestia. She leads me to an elevator and presses a button, two others following her.

Another girl introduces herself as Lacey. She is normal enough, save for the black lace patterns tattooed across her body. Her hair is probably fake, too, considering the platinum color. She wears rather dramatically winged eyeliner. It's actually attractive.

Oh no. It's much too early for them to be brainwashing me…

When I arrive, a man- Aidus- immediately picks my clothes off. He looks quite cruel, with his shaved head and inlaid spikes. He has no hair on his body at all, save for a small line of fur down the center of his chin. Even his eyebrows are gone. He proves to be to the contrary of his appearance, joking with me as he rips all the hair off of my body. If I try really hard, I can pretend I don't want to scream at someone, which seems smart, considering they are attempting to help me.

A thousand dead little hair follicles and seven baths later, I am sitting in a padded chair as Celestia works with my hair, Aidus does who knows what to my arms, and Lacey plucks at my face, making comments to her partners.

"What dramatic eyes," she murmurs, pulling out brow hairs. "Amazing lips. Gorgeous arch," she comments, rubbing some thick goo into them. She continues working with my face until I don't think I'll know myself when she steps away.

After hours of work, the prep team steps back, admiring their work. They inspect me one last time, and then head out. I sigh and close my eyes. When they open again, they see… an angel? I don't know what they look like, but Mother spoke of them when I was little. His face glows, and he appears perfect. "Hello," he says quietly. That's when I realize that my incredibly delusional mind is staring at my stylist.

I immediately blubber apologies. I must sound stupid, and quite frankly, that's how I feel as well. He shakes his head. "It's all right. I was the one who disturbed your sleep." I wasn't asleep, but if that excuses my gawking, so be it.

I evidently hadn't been prepared for the man who walked through the door. Aside from his glowing face, he has a long blond ponytail, reaching about to the middle of his back. His eyes change color every time he blinks. Right now, they're a sky blue. His face actually does border on perfect. He quietly circles me. "My name is Gabriel," he says softly. His Capitol accent gives the impression he's very considerate- of himself. He gently pulls my robe off, and I stare forward, attempting not to look embarrassed. "This is my fifth year styling, and my first year in District Four." He heads for the other room, beckoning for me to follow.

A button on the side of a table brings up two plates of food- some variety of soup. I hesitantly take a spoonful, and it turns out to be amazing. From what I hear, all Capitol food is.

"You know," Gabriel says, "people's features can tell you a lot about them. Your eyes, for example. They're the precise color of the ocean. They're mysterious, though. You have a tenancy to hide things, even from your confidants." He looks me over again, his violet eyes taking everything in. "Your lips appear to be fixed in whatever emotion you feel. Right now… I think you're embarrassed and a bit annoyed."

_Yes, actually. Thank you for noticing. _

"The hair shows your personality. You're subtle, certainly not the first people notice. When you're given attention, they realize there's nothing quite this… amazing."

I look up at him. My plucked brows furrow in confusion. Is he trying to seduce me? Is he attempting to perhaps make me impressed? It wasn't at all working. "Are you here to tell me about myself?" I scoop up another spoonful of soup, eyebrows still scrunched. I regret not eating very much on the train if all of the food was this good.

He laughs, not saying anything but getting started with his own soup.

Back on my miserable chair, I close my eyes and let him torture me as he must. So long as I don't look like a whale or a Capitol woman, I can live with it. I wake up- yes, I fell asleep. Why not? I'll need it in a few days- to him prodding my fingertips.

"She wasn't exaggerating, was she?" He sighs and presses some sort of cement onto my nails, covering the tips of my fingers (and the scars there) with a type of concealer. A few minutes later, the cement is hard, and I see they are fake nails. "Better," he mutters as he paints them black. He stands up and observes me, evidently surprised that I've actually woken up. I stare at him as he looks me over. He appears impressed with what he sees, because he soon returns with a handful of fabric that is slipped over my head. He turns me to a mirror, and I can't help but be amazed.

My eyes are covered by a mask of makeup. It's like a little mask Finnick brought back from a Capitol party once, except this one is swirling blues and greens and purples and it doesn't come off. My eyes are bright and vibrant. I remember Lacey dripping some liquid into my eyes, and I don't doubt it did this. My lips are a soft, smiling pink, not my first choice, but it actually is rather nice. My curls are less unruly than usual. They shine brightly and flow down my back. They seem lighter than usual, more golden than dark. My face glows golden. Odd black symbols are painted down my left arm, perfectly complementing the dress.

The dress… How to describe it. It starts out plastered to my skin, as if it is growing, flowing from it. It clings to my curves up to my waist, where the shimmery, blue-green-purple fabric swells out, falling down to the floor. There is the occasional dark purple accent, and I see fine crystal dust in the occasional spot. Maybe diamond- who knows in this place? They might have diamonds set aside to shred up for dresses.

The last thing he does before he declares me ready is leans down and clips my necklace on over my heartlessly bare foot. I look at him in confusion. _Aren't shoes the common protocol here? _"Do you wear shoes at home?" His question surprises me, but I shake my head. "You are representing your district. Therefore, you go barefoot." Okay. I go barefoot. Nice to know he's not crazy. Well, not _that _crazy.

When we reach the chariot with our team of silver horses, Nerio already stands on the thing. His pants are like my dress, and he doesn't wear a shirt. Upon closer inspection, it occurs to me that the pronounced muscles on his abdomen have been applied similarly to the symbols on my arm. He wears a sash of dead fish over his shoulders- hopefully fake. It's rather amusing, actually. Not to him. He scowls. Apparently, his stylist decided to forego the mask, instead framing his eyes with turquoise blue swirls. I am trying desperately not to laugh at how girlish he looks.

I take a moment to look down the line. Most tributes are already in their chariots, their stylists at their side. None seem particularly striking in the bright lights of the stables. I shake my head and walk up to the horses, gently stroking them until the doors open and I have to run back.

The Capitol Anthem swells from outside of the open doors. It's a majestic little melody, one that I will get to listen to every day until I die in the arena, but not before we see images of those who've already died. How they were murdered? We'll never know. The Capitol citizens enjoy many things, two of which being mystery and secrets.

I see hoards of people cheering as District One pulls their way out of the stables. Gabriel runs up and presses a glass ball into my hand and a trident into Nerio's. He looks us over and nods. I look down, and I don't know how, but there is a miniature ocean in the large glass ball. Little waves crest and fall, just like its big sister. It's amazing. I could stare at it all day.

Nerio has the good sense to elbow me as our horses rear up and tug our chariot out into the lion's pen. The crowds cheer for us, gasping at our attire. We can't possibly be as amazing as the tributes from One, who appear to be painted silver and covered in jewels. Well, jewel-covered tunics. They bask in the glory, waiting for the meat to come running to them. Still, it's incredibly satisfying to know you're being admired by a whole crowd, if only until the next district comes out. This exclusive attention makes me hope that every single person from District Four who has ever pushed past me and dismissed me as normal is watching. I hope they all see how truly amazing I am right now. I feel- well, human…

Until Katniss comes, anyway.

The whole of the audience roars with excitement for a reason unknown to Nerio and I. I would turn, but I decide to wait until we reach the circle and I can stare properly, and stare I do, for Katniss Everdeen is on fire. I kid you not. She and her male counterpart are covered in the dancing flames. The glow is quite entrancing, throwing shadows across her face; I find I can't take my eyes off of her. It has that effect on the audience as well. Their chanted names roll through the street like a thick, inescapable wave. She waves, smiles, and blows kisses to the audience, and they suck it all up like a sponge.

When I finally take my gaze back, I see Nerio's lost himself to them as well. He jealously looks between the two. His grip falls from the trident, and I grab it before it tumbles from the chariot. I half want to jab him as he did to me, but I don't. He eventually looks forward, pretending not to steal glances at them. I take a different approach than he does, looking at the huge screen fastened on the president's mansion, where the man himself gives a speech that no one listens to. Nobody can. It would appear the Games have already started, because she has stolen President Snow's attention, and any other time, that would be a crime. The screen spends an irrational amount of time on the fiery couple, giving me proper time to gape, glare, whatever you would call it. I pay especially close attention, and soon realize they're holding hands. Provocative. Smart. Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, they look good together.

For perhaps the first time since the fiftieth Games, District Twelve takes center stage in these Games. I have undeniable respect for Katniss Everdeen, but honestly, I can't help but be concerned by the way things are going. If she keeps it up, I just might have to kill her myself.

**Yay! Beauty chapter! :D Okay, just so ya'll know, I don't _really _hate any of the characters. Katniss and Nerio aren't _that _bad. It's Glimmer who you should look out for... O.o Kidding. Mostly. Thanks for reading so far!**


	4. Chapter 4

I have the great privilege of being stuck in the elevator with the now extinguished tributes of District Twelve. I tighten my grip on Nerio's trident, not that it would do me any good in the event of danger or anger. Still, the weapon comforts me. I find it a bit odd when I see fear on her face, but then I remember how tall I am. Oh, and the minor fact that I'm the big, bad Career tribute. Maybe the trident adds to the effect as well. I have some advantage over the girl on fire, or so it would seem. The boy, however, wears a mask of resolution painted over his pale blue eyes.

Upon my arrival, Nerio and I are immediately whisked off to eat. This time, I don't hesitate to take a little of everything laid out for us, and I find a liking for every morsel that enters my mouth. Once again, I deeply regret not eating on the train.

The table is silent, so I force myself to say something. "Finnick, you know I love you, but this food puts even yours to shame."

He snickers before saying, "If this puts my food to shame, what impression could it possibly leave on yours?"

That was offensive. "What, pray tell, could you possibly mean?"

"Well," he says, hiding his smile and taking on a Capitol accent, "let us compare food to fine art. This food is a masterpiece: perfect colors, amazing brushstrokes, and so on. My food is what you would see in an art class. So maybe it isn't perfect. In comparison to the masterpiece, it's a bit- well, very mundane, but it's still pretty great. Now, _your _food, my dear, is the artistic concept of a young toddler vomiting on a canvas. It has color, but it also has no definition and a really, truly nasty smell."

"Gee, Finn, I'm sorry. You never told me you wanted your food to smell nice _and _be edible! How was I supposed to guess?"

He leans over the table, getting a dirty look from Cassina, who already seems unhappy about the pseudo accent, and pats my hand. "There, there. I am still alive, and now you know."

"Yep. Got it. Vomit on canvas isn't edible. Next time, I should cook my paint instead." He starts laughing so hard that he chokes on his words. I look at the expression on his face, and soon, we are both practically in tears. Nobody understands what we're laughing at. I suppose our dialogue wasn't that amusing. Not to them, at least. I, however, have my head hidden in my arms because I can guarantee you it's bright red from laughing so hard. It takes a while for the laughter to stop, and then we finish our meals in silence with the occasional snort of laughter. The curl never completely works its way from my lips.

Cassina still seems confused and a bit peeved as she leads us to the sitting room to watch the recap of the ceremony. Nothing really stands out to me in the other tributes. I pay special attention to our chariot. Nerio actually looks intimidating with his trident and "muscles," and I look quite stunning. From a distance, the glass ball was invisible, so it seemed as though the ocean was curling around my bare fingers, as though I were commanding it with some mental force. It was an amazing effect. We aren't completely forgettable even after Twelve's fiery debut. Would it have been nice to get center stage for once? Yes, actually. I'm used to being forgotten in the action. However, I can't do much to change my impression until the Games themselves, and I fully intend on doing everything then.

Later in my room, I lie on my bed in a comfortable black bathrobe. I would hunt for pajamas, but I can't really bring myself to move, much less think of sleep. I just stare contentedly out the window at the colorful, bustling city. This is nothing like District Four. Usually, as soon as the clock hits four, you are free to do as you please. However, as soon as the sun sets, everyone but essential personnel dries off and heads home. Here, so long as they have an excuse, they're outside, dancing and having fun. It's so different. A small smile settles across my face. If it weren't for the obligations that are attached, I could really enjoy this.

A knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts. I take a moment to tie my robe more tightly before I run to the door, and who should be waiting there but Finnick Odair? His lips curl in obvious amusement. "Hello, Miss Amadahy," he says in his deep, seductive voice.

I keep my demeanor professional, only because I see Marina down the hall. "What have I done to receive this honor?" I step aside, gesturing to my room, and he takes the invitation and steps in, shutting the door after himself.

"Missing anything?" he asks in his deep purr.

I open my mouth to tell him I didn't _bring _anything when I realize how big of a lie that would be. My fingers reach to the nightstand where I'd previously deposited my necklace, and upon further inspection, I realize it's missing the small sapphire flower that's always been there. He notices my realization, and hands over the blue stone with a chuckle. I quickly fasten the thing back in, scolding it silently for jumping off without my permission and making me look like a fool.

After I'm sure the flower is securely woven in, I look up and see Finnick focused on my fingers. Not moving his eyes, he says, "Has anyone told you you're a magnificent weaver?"

Wow. "Not the master himself." Not anyone, actually. Weaving is actually my job, but never once have I been commended for it.

"I don't weave." He's not being very accurate. He does weave, and he does so rather well. "I didn't really win because I could weave. I won the Games because I was spoiled rotten." He smiles and licks his lips in that "seductive" way. He lets his voice go deep again. "Apparently, gorgeous was my strategy." His voice goes back to normal. "So what's yours?"

"What about sarcastic?" He raises an eyebrow, but I'm serious. "It's something I'm good at," I point out. So good, in fact, that he was under the impression I was being sarcastic. It's a skill I'm rather practiced at.

He shakes his head. "No, that won't really work." He thinks for a moment. "How about mysterious?" He looks me over, and nods in approval. "Yep, that will work." I look at him, confused. Mysterious, I am not. Then again, he can read me like a book. He laughs at my expression. "We'll worry about it later." He stands up and stretches, as if the five minutes we've been here has exhausted him. "See ya, cousin dearest." He pats my head and walks out. I dramatically fall back on the bed, tossing my necklace back on the nightstand and taking advantage of the remote provided to turn off the lights.

_Knots?_ I look incredulously after the two backs pinned Twelve, who are now headed to the knot-tying station. Knot-tying can't really be learned three days before the Games, not unless you already know the basics. Well, I suppose she could know the basics, but still. I sigh before saying, "Who learns knots before the Hunger Games?"

The question was intended to be rhetorical. Besides, I didn't think there was anyone who was listening, which was why it surprised me when I heard an answer. Right next to my ear, I hear, "Somebody who needs to know more about knots." I feel myself jump a few inches. I hear quiet laughter behind my head. "Skittish, are we?" I feel as if I was an irritated cat, puffed up in anger. I swear a small hiss slips through my teeth. This would be condoned were it to be Finnick, but this is certainly _not _Finnick.

I'm turning around to confront the person, but as I do, he says quickly, "Sorry! Bad start." I face the offending figure, and his eyes widen. He holds out a hand, half open, as though he's trying to hide something. I squint at it, and all I see are long, shining scars. I suppose one might be self conscious about them, but not me. I'm still hesitant, but I grab his hand. He shakes it once, then releases. "I'm Copper." He looks as if he wants to say more, but he refrains from doing so.

I take a moment to look him over. I remember him now. He's from District Three. His hair is neater than it was for the reaping, thanks to the stylists, but it's still a disheveled black mess. He looks somewhat boyish, but still rather attractive. I meet his eyes, and they're an odd gold-brown color. I've never seen eyes like that. It catches me off guard for a second. I squeeze my own eyes shut, not able to put a name to the color. I realize he awaits a response, so I slide my eyes open and say, "Lily." I turn around and head off, not sure what do and aching to test my skills. I remember Finnick telling me long ago that spear throwing was easy if you could throw a trident, and I wanted to test it.

As I walk away, I hear him follow. I stop at a station displaying a large rack of spears. He laughs. "You wouldn't be related to Finnick Odair, would you?" He laughs again, making it seem as if he believes his statement to be some big joke. All of Panem more likely than not knows that I am related to Finnick Odair by now! Must he have the _audacity _to joke about it? He adds alcohol to the wound by saying, "Doesn't he have a cousin? Lily Amadahy?"

"Okay. I'll play." I force a smile onto my features as he steps back a few steps, hands up in surrender. Does he not realize that murder is _illegal? _Whatever. "How about this? If I make this shot," I say, pointing to the bright red heart of a dummy, a spot that I can cover with my fingertip, "then I am indeed Lily Amadahy." With that, I spin on my heel, roll forward, and toss the thing. I really hope it makes it because I don't really know what I'd say my name was if I were to miss. But I don't. The shaft smoothly slides through the mannequin, right on target. Thank you, Finnick.

"Well, hello, Miss Amadahy," he says in awe. He mutters something else.

"Excuse me," I hiss. "I don't believe I heard that." He just laughs and walks off, leaving me to my own devices.

I take Annie's advice and try everything that I possibly can. I am good at direct combat, especially sword fighting. I was only good at wrestling because I outsmarted the trainer. I'm all right with a mace, various sharp objects, and punching heavy sandbags, not that it's easy to be bad at that. I am miserable with a bow and arrow, as well as with weight lifting, axe throwing, building freestanding structures using only sticks and leaves, and camouflage. There is now a large red stain across my forearm that I can't get off. Apparently, berry juice is permanent.

I'm about to head off to find something else to do when an agonizingly loud lunch bell rings. I pause and wipe my face off on my shirt. It surprises me that I've done enough to get sweaty. "So I see you actually exert yourself," a voice says behind my ear. This time, I don't jump, but I do let a sigh slip out of my lips. This Copper figure appears to be quite persistent. Or he has a death wish. "You know, you have to talk to me eventually," he says.

"What do you want to know?" That wasn't my first choice of response. No, my first thought had been something along the lines of, _You keep thinking that. _I instead decided to be nice. However, he doesn't respond, and I turn around to see not him, but a girl.

"Hey," she says with a smile. I notice that it seems a bit forced. I see Copper sulking in the background, and I'm sorely tempted to laugh. "My name is Clove. District Two." I head off to get food, and she follows. "You're Lily Odair, right?" I note that her friendliness is as real as her smile.

"Amadahy," I say just loud enough for her to hear.

"Shame that Everdeen girl had to take away your spotlight," she says. I hear a grin in her voice. I don't doubt she's goading me. "You could have been the big thing of this year's Games." I've thought that a few times. Maybe I was intended to make the Games interesting this year. _Relative of Finnick Odair! Eek! _That could have been fun. Nice to know I'm not the only one who has noticed her intrusion. I realize that Katniss Everdeen is really starting to irritate me, and I've never even talked to her.

I respond in the best way I can think of, considering she's a Career. "We'll just have to kill her first, then, won't we?" I flash a smile over my shoulder, and I see her satisfied smirk. She likes my attitude, and she doesn't like Katniss. Of course. She doesn't like competition. She only likes me to help her get rid of it, but I may as well play along.

"So, technically this already applies, but would you join us?" I continue walking, and she takes it as me not understanding her. "At the Career table?" she clarifies.

I continue getting food. It isn't like I can say no to them if I don't want them to hunt me down later. Besides, Annie's advice has helped me so far. Still, they make me uncomfortable, these Careers. I would do better by myself. They don't give me much of a choice, though. The girl from One grabs my wrist and pulls me to their table, pushing her hair over a shoulder. She introduces everyone to me. "So, you already know Clove," she says, gesturing to the small girl. "I'm Glimmer, and this is Marvel." She points to the bulky blond boy from Two. "That's Cato. And for anyone who doesn't know, this is Lily Amadahy."

Everyone gives a somewhat welcoming grunt before fading back into their conversations. Cato tells a fascinating story of how he did something or other concerning someone who did something on the day of his reaping. By fascinating, I mean completely and totally dreary. After the first few minutes, I shrink back into my own mind, a place with things that fascinate me much more than how someone tried to break Cato's nose, amusing as that may be.

"So what's your favorite color?" Arg! Where does he come from? Why is it so amusing to him when he catches me by surprise? I don't find anything funny, but he is practically rolling on the floor laughing.

"You could at least say something before you attack me," I say, hurt by Copper's amusement. Well, not really. I don't even know the guy. If he's so easily amused, I'm not completely sure I _want _to know him. I really don't know what I said, but he laughs harder. I turn away and stuff a bite of chicken into my mouth as he grabs a chair offensively close to the Careers.

"But seriously, you asked what I wanted to know, so I asked you a question. What's your favorite color?"

I'm not sure I want to talk to him, since he seems to find everything I do hilarious, but I did give him permission to ask the question, so I may as well answer it. "Purple." I look down at my shirt with the odd sweat stain. "It's a rare color in our district. Not very many rich colors, you know?"

He nods in understanding. No laughter. That's a start. "I actually just figured out my favorite color." He looks me straight in the eyes, completely serious. "Mine is blue green…sea color, actually." He looks down, muttering, "Not that I'd know sea color." He lifts his fork, his cheeks going pink. What does that even-oh. I get it now. I take a deep breath as I feel my face burn. My eyes are influencing people now. I wonder if this is a sign of mind control.

"So, Miss Amadahy, tell me about yourself." I look up, and he appears to have gotten over his momentary embarrassment.

"You really want to hear the story? It isn't completely…well, there isn't a happy ending."

He snorts rather unattractively. "Does anybody have one? We live until we die. No smiles there."

Well, if I'm condemning myself, I may as well do it thoroughly. Telling my life story to a stranger is a decent way to start. "I was born on the sea." He laughs, perhaps taking it literally. "Well, on a boat on the sea. Mother went for a ride. Daddy said it wasn't a smart idea, but maybe that's where I got my determination from." As an afterthought, I mutter, "And why I don't listen."

He conceals a laugh as a cough-very badly, I might add. In my normal voice, I say, "Anyway, the boat was three miles out when she went into labor, and poof. There was a little baby Lily." I pause for a moment, considering whether or not I should talk about the dark edge of my life or not. Well, he asked for it. I may as well give it all. "Well, I never was one to wait. I lived a happy little eight years." I see the numbers rolling through his mind. I decide to relieve him of the thought.

"When I was eight, my cousin, who may as well have been my brother- he'd always liked my parents more that his- was reaped for District Four. He was an immediate hit, which scared my mother. Everyone knew he'd be an instant target." I laugh unhappily. "He was. He was just better than them. Just watching him do what he had to…well, it killed off the competition, but you could say it had the unintentional effect of killing her. He came back. Mom didn't." I pause for a second to push my food around.

"I weave." He looks confused at the subject change, but I go on. "Metal cages, by the way, in case you were wondering. Not a pleasant job." I hold out my hand, shiny scars, both new and old, stand out against my skin like old, familiar friends. I don't pause to evaluate his reaction. "Do I have to? No. I live with a _victor. _I do it just to get out of the house. Daddy's dead. Boat accident, seven years ago. Finnick usually swims or…well, other things. Mom was always alone, which was how she seemed to like it. I got to baby her through the day." I pause and take a deep breath. "Last year, she went on a boat. No one had an issue with it. We thought she was finally back to normal. As if. She accidentally fell out. At least, that's what they say. Finn and I know better. Now, I live with him, and with his dad when he isn't home. They're my only family, what with no dad and no mom, even though his parents are harder to reach than the sun. So…the end."

I look around the table, and to my utter dismay, I see twelve eyes turned to me. I feel my cheeks burn, and I stare at my hands. I didn't exactly want the whole table to know all of that. I practically just told them everything I am, everything that they can use against me. He could have _said something! _

"Bravo," I hear a voice say. I look up hesitantly, and the boy from Two is smiling. The expression is oddly feral. I can already tell that he'll be the leader, so to speak. He doesn't look afraid to kill. Not at all. I look around the table. The silence is oppressing. I stare at an odd green spot on the table. A moment later, Cato says, with a huge smile that exposes all of his teeth, "So what's life like with Finnick Odair?"

Hmm. The inevitable question has come. How to phrase this. "Let's see… Finnick is amazing, but you get sick of stuck-up Capitol men, obsessive Capitol women, and, for the most part, you get sick of the Capitol."

They all laugh and say things like, "uh huh, you must!" One, however, silences the others with his statement.

"Well, one of us will soon be with the, ahem, 'stuck up' Capitol men." I recognize the speaker, Marvel, the boy from One. The one who I never liked to begin with. He certainly hasn't changed my mind. Yep, if he wins, which he won't- I'll see to that- then he'll fit in perfectly. He seems very satisfied with himself, but he won't meet my eyes.

Well, since they all probably have a plot to kill me, I may as well get a head start. I carefully listen to their stories, the way they talk, the way they think. I carefully observe them all, and this is what I find.

The tributes from District One aren't the smartest. Marvel cares a lot about himself, and that might just be the death of him. He seems to think a lot about how everything will affect his life, and only really volunteered for the Games to become more famous than his brother, who did something or other concerning designing some kind of fabric for the Capitol. He wants to win so he can hunt his brother, who is now a Capitol stylist, down.

Glimmer is somewhat nice and slightly less self centered than her male counterpart, although she is incredibly vain, especially about her hair. She knows she's attractive, and she tends to hide behind Marvel and Nerio. She has a tenancy to rub up on Cato, but she stops as soon as Clove comes into view. She does have common sense, but she also has a nasty temper when insulted. I have noticed that she has a tenancy to be rational when everyone else in the group is agitated. She has positively no talent with any weapon, but she is nice to talk to on occasion.

Cato and Clove are the masterminds of the operation. Cato wows people with stories of his strength. They seem a bit shallow and pointless, but there's a plan in his eyes. He monitors who is intimidated, I think, and by association, he already knows how things are going to work out. I don't doubt that he already has his kill list in order, and he has the brute force to execute it. Clove doesn't talk much, but you can see on her face that she is taking in everything everyone says. She carefully looks over every tribute she sees in the other districts as well, and how they react to the immediate threat of the Careers. Anyone who has seen her with a knife will know that she is more than a decent match, despite her small stature. She doesn't bother to hide it. She and Cato seem to go together like clockwork. I almost wonder if they had a bond prior to the Games, but I have no plans to ask.

Nerio, judging by how he acts, will be dead the first day. Honestly, if I come across him after the gong rings, I'll kill him myself. It seems heartless and cruel, but when I have a spear clutched in my hand and have doubts coursing through my veins, I can think about every single little thing that he has said that has exposed his true ignorance. I can see in my mind him jumping to volunteer, pushing aside Kai Mornan, who may have had a chance. He sacrificed himself for no apparent reason, so I plan on taking advantage of it. Not that he needs to know that.

I stay with the Careers until the last day of training. On that day, Clove claims she has something to do with Cato, and we all decide to just separate for the day. I can't help myself. I head to the knot-tying station. Yes, I know. Why do it if you know it? Ask anyone. If you know something, hone your skill while you can. It is actually very comforting. My fake nails are constantly catching on the thin metal, and the wire awakens my cuts, but I really don't mind as much as I should. Gabriel might, but I really could care less about what he thinks. He has some fancy concealer for that. He has a life to live. I don't. For me, the familiar sting of pain is almost comforting.

An hour later, I walk away from an extravagant net. It hangs from a clump of fake trees, a delicate trigger system dangling down from it. I am satisfied with my work, but certainly not any more than the woman manning the station. She is stunned that I have done this. The only guidance I had from her was the trigger system, which I never would have done on my own.

I am only a few steps away when I hear his voice. I turn and see a pair of copper eyes between squares of metal. I roll my eyes. Of course he'd be the one to ignore the _obvious _net hovering above him. He fumbles around, attempting to get out, but no luck. The net is built to cause pain with every move, and the genius proves not to be so smart in this area. I refrain from laughing. Man versus net…net wins every time. I can't help the quiet laughs that slip past my tightly sealed lips as I gently lift the net from his tense body. The net itself isn't very substantial. The pain keeps one from moving. Usually.

I don't want to laugh in his face, because that might come across as rude. As soon as the net is safely in a pile in the corner, I start to walk away, put my hand to my mouth, and let out the huge laugh that had been pent up there. I hear footsteps behind me, so I turn around and face him. He fingers at a particularly deep cut, a grimace on his face. I can't help but take advantage of the situation. "I'd say sorry, but for once, I'm not the idiot here."

"Geez." He walks forward, and I automatically step back. "You didn't seem to mention that you manufacture devices of torture." He puts emphasis on _torture, _making me sound worse than I really am.

"I'm not _that _bad. Or good. Take your pick." I'm still walking backwards, mostly to monitor his reactions. Who knows what he thinks of the odd girl with the rust colored hair? Surely not me. Perhaps not him yet. So I watch.

He appears to think for a while. He seems to be a thinker. He has that look in his eye, the one people get when they dwell particularly hard on a thought that has been going through one's mind again and again. I can't help but wonder what. I wonder a lot about this Copper figure. What does he think of? What makes him happy? What does he have to go home to? I want to ask, but I'm afraid to get too close to anyone. I don't want to be friends to have it backfire in the arena. Still, talking never hurt anyone.

It's a while before his eyes are clear again. He looks around, and suddenly, his eyes widen. His eyes are rather pretty, I note. The color is really unlike anything I've seen before. It seems to be flecked with…well, molten _copper. _I can't seem to stop looking, and then…

I'm on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey...sorry to my (three) followers about the delay. I have just been...I don't even know. Just enjoy.**

The ceiling… So high up. It takes a while for it to focus. When it does, I still feel dizzy. The room tilts around me, as if I were on a boat in a storm. I blink. And blink. That does nothing, so I simply close my eyes. An impatient sound is heard behind my head and something tickles my face. I open my eyes, startled, and what I see does nothing to relax me, because a certain girl on fire burns mere inches away from me. After I get over that shock, I focus on her face. Her grey eyes appear to be quite annoyed. The boy, Peeta Mellark, honestly looks concerned. He stands next to Copper, whose eyes are wide. When he sees me, he lets out a sigh that I suppose is relief.

"Sorry. I didn't know I had to warn you that I was standing." Loathing clearly rolls through her lips. Her voice is almost provocative, but reserved. It's amazing how easy it is to forget that, in her eyes, I'm the nasty Career. I want to tell her that I'm not. I'm _not _a nasty Career. I'm a girl who wants to make it home, who has Death breathing down her neck just like the rest of them. I won't talk to her, though. She'll be plotting to kill the Careers, just like the rest of them. Suddenly, she seems the slightest bit more menacing. Her hands seem just a bit too close to my throat.

"I'm sorry I had things on my mind." The response is cold, cold as ice, yet, it rolls through my lips like mist, and into her ears like gasoline to her fire, making her hate me even more. I can deal with that.

I try to yank myself up. Katniss just steps back, but Mr. Mellark, clearly kinder than his female counterpart, offers me a hand. I take it, but as soon as I'm up, the room tilts again, and I tilt with it. I feel arms around my waist, keeping me up. I command my legs to hold their weight. It takes a minute or so, but they eventually comply. As soon as they do, I walk a few feet, still lightheaded. I brush the hair from my eyes, grabbing a length of twine from the knot station and twisting out various loops and twists. This helps me concentrate, as always. Katniss storms away in disgust, whether at the blood from the twine re-awakening my previously re-awakened cuts or simply from my incoherence. Or because I'm who I am.

Peeta walks up to me then. "I'm sorry about her," he mutters to me. Sure enough, his baby blue eyes hold an apology.

Katniss stomps back, grabbing his arm and pulling. "Don't apologize for me," she hisses between her teeth.

He half smiles, and as an afterthought before he's pulled around the corner, he mutters so she surely can't hear him, "Tell Cato I said yes." I nod, confused, and still a bit dizzy.

I drop the twine and walk rapidly to the glinting swords in the distance. I pick up my favorite and automatically batter the poor, innocent dummy into oblivion. I hear my name again and again from the ever persistent voice behind me, but I ignore it until I feel a hand on mine. I look at the foreign object and shake it off. With a _whoosh, _I slide the sword into the heart. The moronic dummy is dead. Again. Seven times now.

Finished finally, I turn on a heel, enjoying the hair swirling around my face. Concerning faces, his is one of astonishment. As if I wanted to kill him now. Ha. If I wanted to, I could have speared him the first day, rules or not. He's actually pretty nice to keep around, if only to remind me that I exist.

His mouth opens to speak, but the lunch bell chooses that moment to deafen us all. He sighs, giving up whatever he was about to say, replacing it with, "Sorry I couldn't warn you fast enough." Some vague emotion flits through his eyes as he turns away, heading to eat lunch by himself. Again. My emotion-reading skills aren't quite up to speed yet, so I don't take the time to analyze as I normally would. I won't force him to tell me anything, and besides… I'm not supposed to care.

"Miss Odair, you may leave." I bow gracefully enough, gently setting down the sword that dangles from my fingertips. They seem impressed with me, even though I didn't do anything worth seeing. So I threw spears around and stabbed inanimate objects. So threatening. I am now stuck with way too much time with way too little to do.

The Careers are gathered in the lobby. The huddle has no conceivable point. They laugh and do what Careers do. Well, what Careers do when they aren't killing people. They talk about their hit list and remind each other that they're better than everyone else. Cato seemed happy enough when I passed on Peeta's message at lunch. She's probably eager to show off her plan.

I realize something. I don't want to stand around with these people. To be perfectly honest, I can't stand them. None of them are particularly horrible, except maybe Nerio and Marvel, but I suppose it's what they represent that disinterests me. I sneak past, figuring if nothing else, I can get some extra sleep in.

Well, maybe not. As soon as I get up to my floor, I decide against going back to my room. I instead walk to the dining room and sit in a wooden chair. On cue, an Avox enters and sets a snack tray in front of me.

Avoxes make me a bit nervous. Ever since I was little, I've heard one constant threat. "Be careful what you say if you want to keep talking." A million people have said that again and again, and those who disregarded it had a tendency to….well, let's say _disappear. _When I got older, I found out precisely what happened. Mr. Cresta had been saying things, things about the Capitol. For all I know, they were true. Anyway, the Capitol apparently got word of these talks, and long story short, no more Mr. Cresta.

I haven't recognized an Avox yet, so I find it perfectly safe to ask one for art supplies. "Any will do," I tell the man. I divulge in a piece of cheese as I wait, and he comes with a stack of paper and a few pencils. I smile and thank him. With nothing better to do, I pick up the pencil and let my fingers take over.

Art is one of the few things I allow myself to take pleasure in. It's the only thing that has always been simple. All you have to do is let go, let your analytical mind take over. That's what I do. I don't really think about anything but lines. The pencil has a way of finding my problems and projecting them through it into some whimsical composition. It isn't really a practical hobby, but I suppose it's better than sitting around wallowing in my misery.

I find myself drawing simple little things, whatever comes to mind, like my hand and the dress, a candle, a flame- ah! My mind is on her _again. _What is it that she has that draws everyone in? She is a sullen, rude little… Never mind. I will not think of her, and I will put these stupid drawings away before I think about this any longer. Not the flame, though. That one will get torn into tiny pieces and shoved down the drain. Take _that, _fire.

Ah, maybe these Games have made me a bit too aggressive.

Too late now.

At dinner, I actually take the effort to fill myself up. I am content when I plop down to see my scores. Not that I really _care _about my scores. I've seen individuals who score a five out of twelve in training win. I've seen people who score elevens die in the bloodbath. Scores don't represent how you act in life-or-death situations. I may have deserved my nine. I don't know. Nerio probably deserved his five. Not that I'd say so. Who knows what Miss Everdeen did to score her eleven? Not me. Probably scowled at the judges. I think of this as I head off to my room. Katniss Everdeen, scowling her way to the top. Well, she's a target now. She'd best watch her back, because if that scowl brought her to the top, it won't be afraid to push her right back down to the bottom.

The next morning is completely and utterly dreary. I wake to Cassina, who appears to have forgone her usual gold powder, reminding me of an utterly normal person. Scary, I know. She teaches me etiquette, and Finnick stands in the background, giving me pointers. I learn a lot of useless gibber, such as how to sit properly in a short dress, and how to walk in high heels, both of which concern me. What could Gabriel possibly be doing that requires barely any cloth and five inches added to my already tall height? I'm not sure I want to know.

As soon as Cassina declares me ladylike, she heads off to work with Nerio. Finn takes over, but he's completely professional for once. Our usual friendly banter has disappeared in favor of constructive criticism and advice on how to act alluring and mysterious, which I apparently am. Not. Still, he is persistent, and by the time we get to dinner, I can't _stop _acting mysterious. I wish I could ask for the peas like a normal person, but no such luck. Nerio is laughing at me, as well as Marina. "Yeah, she's competition alright," Nerio says hysterically, his face turning an unpleasant red. Finnick and Cassina seem satisfied enough, though. Me? I am considering whether the butter knife can be used as an effective weapon, because I have discovered that the nasally laughter that rings through the room has delicate fingers that probe my nerves.

I realize this day has gone by much too fast. I shouldn't be going to bed yet, but I am exhausted. I don't know why, since I haven't been _doing _anything. Have I? I don't even care anymore. I just pull a pillow over my head to drown out my thoughts, falling into a deep yet restless sleep.

I wake up to Celestia this time. Her glimmering hand holds the pillow that I had been hidden under, which is possibly why I woke up. I don't know why, but I am still tired. Incredibly so. As soon as I am in the comfortable chair, I go back to sleep. I don't wake up until Lacey shakes my arm and wishes me good luck. It isn't until then that I realize I'll never see them again, unless I win. Fat chance.

I suppose it is somewhat worrisome, considering my preparations yesterday, what Gabriel possibly could have concocted to add to my air of mystery. Perhaps a large box. "Who is that? What is it doing here?" Yep. Definitely mysterious.

I suppose I had little to worry about. He only had to glue my dress to me. No concern there. Okay, I suppose I'm being a bit too harsh. The dress is quite nice. The gauzy material, though short, is quite comfortable. The heels he puts me in are a whole other story. The "supporting" lace doesn't at all look supporting. "Are you planning on gluing those on, too?" I mutter.

"Ha, ha." He mutters something about little jokesters, along with some things that might have been insults.

After I have mastered the shoes, a heavy necklace is tied around my throat, and a bracelet is clipped on my wrist. I see silver ivy and a large black stone. He lengthens my nails and paints on an ivy pattern to match my jewelry, I presume. He offers me a hand and leads me to the mirror.

Well, I suppose my allure is dark. Gabriel touches up dark red lips, accentuated by my dark hair and my porcelain skin. They've contoured my face so that it looks pointed, pretty, girly, and a bit…dangerous. Hmm. Maybe it's my imagination. All in all, I seem to exude the family beauty, as well as mystery. Or perhaps exhaustion. I certainly feel both. Altogether, I look nothing like me.

I walk alone to the area where the interviews will be staged. If nothing else, I know I look good. I feel eyes on me, and we aren't even on stage yet. I feel danger pulsing through my veins. I feel it in my smile. I feel it in the hands that are clenched at my side. I think my mind must be preparing itself for the Games, which is to say, it's turning into the labyrinth of a murderer.

I'm not nervous when I'm in front of the crowd. If anything, the feeling is invigorating, fuel to my fire. I'd rather be incredibly hyper than as tired as I was ten minutes ago. I am practically bouncing with energy as Glimmer acts sexy, Marvel acts like a stuck-up snob, the girl from Three acts terrified, Copper acts Copper-ish, and not soon enough, "Lily Amadahy is introduced to the stage!"

I tower over Caesar Flickerman. It's kind of sad, really. We shake hands and he rushes to sit down, perhaps so I am at a more rational height. I sit at the edge of my seat, not relaxing for a second. I'm already in the arena. What I say can kill me.

"So, Miss Amadahy! How does it feel to be here?" Ah, no. The easiest question out there. Why does it have to be the hardest?

"Amusing." Where did _that _come from? My voice is the seductive purr that I've heard so many times from Finnick. I never knew it was so easy to lose yourself for the Capitol.

He looks properly confused. "Amusing? How so?"

I'm curious to hear this myself. "Well, it's a life or death situation, correct?" He nods, but he's confused still. "I'm fairly certain I can count on one hand the number of tributes who are acting like they do at home. You'd think you would want to act like yourself, but a whole new person comes out."

He takes the given path. "Would you say you've become a whole new person?"

I laugh that dark laugh, the sound flowing like water. "There's no telling, is there?"

He laughs on cue. "No, there really isn't. So, we all know your mentor, but none of us knew about his secret cousin." Everyone hunts Finnick out, and he gives that fake smile for the cameras. The one I keep on my lips now. "What's it like with the golden boy?"

"The better question is what life without the golden boy is like. He's always here."

"Well, you could spend a lot of time with him if you win." I can feel Marina's glare across the room. "Is that your motivation?"

I laugh, a short sharp little thing. "No," I say, a laugh in my voice. "No, I have different wishes…different inspirations."

"Oh?"

"If I win, slim as the odds are, the world will know to be careful about expectations. Ha. As if they haven't already."He gives me a questionable look, so I sigh audibly and explain. "Everyone has their favorite. The one they root for right after the reaping, and sometimes before the reapings even start." I look down the line of tributes, my gaze lingering on the Careers. "We make bets on who will last a day, and who will be gone before the gong stops ringing. Let's be honest. I'm not much to bet on, which is why, if I win, expectations would be broken."

I haven't gone over the second part of my question, and Caesar must understand that I won't. "We have time for one more question," he says with a smile. "What are you most worried about?"

I can't answer this honestly. Not at all. "You honestly want to know?" He nods, and I gift him with one last seductive smile. "Well, Caesar, I'm afraid I can't tell you the answer." He begins to say something, but I cut him off. "However, I can let you guess."

He turns to the audience. "Do you think we should?" They cheer their consent. I meet Finnick's eye, and he cocks a brow at me. A warning not to go too far. I look back to Caesar, and, with a giant smile, he says, "Do tell!"

"Well, you asked." I look at the timer, and realize that I have fifteen seconds to wrap this up. "My biggest concern," I say, drawing the words out, rolling them around on my tongue like chocolate, "is that my wishes will come true." Ha. Make of that what you will. The timer dings, and Caesar shakes hands with me once more. I smile once more for the audience before walking back. Well, I was honest. The Capitol just doesn't know it.

Suddenly, I am tired again, and I catch myself leaning on Copper sometime around Seven's interviews, which gets me a concerned glance from Finnick and Copper alike. Oops. Fraternizing with the enemy. I hold myself up for the duration of the show, but I am exhausted by the time Peeta Mellark decidedly declares his love for a shark.

When I finally get a chance to go off to bed, Marina blocks my door. It's clear she has been waiting for me, because as soon as I approach, she harshly grabs my wrist and drags me through the dining room and down a hall. I kick of the heels, leaving them in the main hall. When she lets go, I realize we are in the mentor's hall, and the door she opens turns out to be a large, windy balcony. I also realize that I now have five nail marks across my wrist. Music sounds from the ground, and lights brightly pulse. I wonder what could possibly inspire this behavior. Well, I suppose the Games might be worth this to them.

"I guess you must think you're so grand." I warily turn to Marina, who glares hatefully at me. Upon realizing she has grabbed my attention, she continues. "You think you're the best. 'If I win, expectations will be broken.' Blah, blah. You'll never win. What could you have that would make you last more than a _week? _Stop pretending. Just because you look like _this,"_ she says, gesturing to my whole body, "doesn't mean you'll survive in the arena." She laughs harshly. "You don't even have a _chance._" She laughs, reminding me of a rabid dog. "You just make me sick." Her little speech has made me a bit confused, but not a bit mad. No, much more than a _bit. _To add to my blossoming anger, she does the most insulting thing you can possibly do to a person in District Four. She leans down and spits at my feet. She comes up, her face defiant, her eyes sparkling, almost glowing with amusement. She clearly goads me, and as my dress whips in the wind, I throw all good sense with it.

I am perfectly calm. She seems smug, self assured. She knows I don't have much of an argument, and she knows she has planted doubts. They threaten to blossom, but I ignore them for the moment. "You know what? You're right." Her smile is smug, but I'm not done. "Yeah, sure, I probably won't win. I'll be dead by the end of the week." I step up to her, and I tower over Marina, even without the heels. "I really don't need you to tell me that." I kneel to her height. I've kept the acid out of my voice for the interviews as not to damage the fragile minds of the Capitol, but I let it flood out now, hoping it can burn through her thick skull. "I'm going to give you a little gift. You can have my cousin. You can have the glory, the spotlight, the pretty dresses. I don't even _care _about that!" I take a deep breath, willing myself to keep my temper. "But I'll thank you to let me keep one thing." I draw myself to my full height. "Let me keep _myself._" With that, I turn around and practically run to my room in my heels. The sharp clicking noises make every door open, but I don't care. My stomach feels like a knot. It isn't until I get to my room that I see the tears running down my face. I watch in confusion as they turn silver, but then I realize with a sense of dismay that it's only makeup.

It's with an odd satisfaction that I wash all traces of beauty from my face. The smears of red on my hands fascinate me, but they wash off as well. The tears fall harder now. I carefully remove the tall shoes and pull myself to the center of the bed. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face in the cocoon of black fabric and golden skin made pale. I let the tears fall, my mind blissfully blank. I can't dare to think about anything. Not Katniss, not Copper, not the Capitol, not Marina, not Finnick. I can't, not if I want to hold on. Not if I want to stay sane.

**Yay! Insert craziness here! Okay, y'all. I may or may not change this to (dun, dun, dunnnnnn) ALTERNATE ENDING! :D Opinions? Do you want Lily to die? Let me know, people! Please? Thank you!**


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